


Exposed

by grappel



Series: We'll Always Have Paris [2]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Fluff, its 1 am on Christmas and I'm doing this, yes more fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 05:12:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5526695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grappel/pseuds/grappel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paris reveals some inner workings and thoughts, since she can see all of his.<br/>Three acts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exposed

Paris and Valentine trudged along swampy ground and the remnants of roads with their eyes down. The light banter between them had decayed into a mindless march about an hour ago. Paris’ feet hurt and her arms were sore from holding her combat shotgun up at her chest for so long. She wasn't sure whether or not synths could get sore, but she glanced to her companion to check on him anyway. If not physical exhaustion, then the hour of silence and walking had obviously left him at least mentally drained. Unprovoked, Paris piped up, “You know what I miss the most?”  
Nick looked up, concern etched over his face, “Is now the time?”  
Paris ignored him and continued on with a small smile, “Pasta. And not Mac n’ cheese, I don't know what that is but it's not pasta. I miss real, al dente, more carbs than anyone ever needs, pasta.” She sighed dreamily, closing her eyes for just a second.  
“My mother used to make the best spätzle. Which isn't the kind of pasta I miss, really, but oh my stars was it good too. I haven't seen a single egg yet, though. So I guess making that is out of the question…”  
Nick remained silent, following behind her still, glad she couldn't see him struggle to connect the words to things from his pre-war memories.  
“Spätzle is…?” He asked finally, giving up.  
“Oh, they're these little yellow noodles made from eggs and wheat flour. They're pretty ugly.” She laughed.  
“My grandmother was from Germany, actually. She passed her favorite recipes onto my mom, and then…” Paris’ posture fell slightly, and she found that her grip on her shotgun had become uncomfortably warm in her sweating hands.  
“Well, I never really got the chance to commit them to memory. I just kept putting it off.”  
Nick fell in pace with her, holding his hand out for her gun so she could wipe her sweaty palms off on her duster.  
“That’s a shame, but you might remember more than you think. You should sit down and try to write them down sometime. So much was lost in the war, even if they're not completely correct… Well, it's more than we had before.”  
When she finished she took her gun back from him, the metal of his hand scraping against her skin. A month ago she would've jumped at the contact, but now she found that the touch was more of a comfort than anything else.  
“Hey, we oughta settle down for the night.” Valentine tipped the brim of his hat towards a boarded up, but almost completely intact house before them.  
“It's hardly even sundown yet, Nick.” She protested.  
“And you've been wilting in this heat for hours; you're practically limping, your cheeks are looking pretty burnt, and you haven't drank water since this morning . You need rest.”  
“Nick-“  
“Paris.” He cut her off, brows raised as if daring her to challenge him.  
She bit her tongue and set her jaw. She knew better than to think he wouldn't notice how much she was struggling, but she had gone farther feeling worse.  
“Fine.”  
“Thankyou,” he sighed, a small but endearing smile pulling at his mouth. 

The inside of the house was dusty and smelled like death, but Valentine helped her push the worst of the destroyed furniture aside and clear out a habitable space. A couch in the living room was still intact enough to serve as a makeshift bed for her for the night, and enough of the ceiling had collapsed to allow for the smoke of a fire to escape.  
By the time the sun had completely set, the temperature began to drop quickly. The sunburn on her cheeks was unforgiving, and despite her closeness to the fire she still shook with chills.  
Paris groaned, wrapping her arms around herself. “How am I supposed to coordinate an outfit for these kind of temperature changes?”  
Valentine chuckled and began to take off his trench coat, which Paris immediately began protesting.  
“Oh dear, I'm sorry, I'm just whining I'll be fine, I promise!” The entire time she fussed, he pulled his arms from the sleeves and leaned over to wrap it over her shoulders.  
“There. I think you need this more than I do.”  
Paris sighed, but nuzzled into the coat gratefully anyway.  
“Thankyou, Mr. Valentine.”  
The synth smiled and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, offering her one. “Manners won't get you very far out here, doll.”  
Paris took one and held it to the embers at the edge of their fire to light it. She took a small, shallow drag before letting the smoke float from between her parted lips. Valentine was almost certain she didn't even inhale when she smoked, just puffed on his cigarettes as if they were actually cigars. When the smoke from his own curled out from the gaps in his neck and jaw, he almost laughed at his hypocrisy.  
“Can I ask you something?” He questioned, watching her face to gauge a reaction.  
“Hm?”  
She didn't look up, eyes fixed on the flames before her.  
“Is there anything else you miss… From before the war?”  
Paris sighed, taking a deeper drag from her cigarette this time. The tip glowed bright red. He wondered if the red light should be taken as a caution sign.  
“Of course there is,” she answered cheerily, flicking off the ash.  
“Do you think it would do you any good to talk about it?” His gaze was steady now, daring her to make eye contact.  
Another drag, shallow again this time.  
“Maybe… I haven't, I haven't really talked about any of it yet.” She waved her hand and he could see the beginnings of a blush crawl under her already reddened cheeks. “Oh! But I don't want to bore you with stories from a time long gone, surely there's something more pleasant you'd wish to hear about?”  
Valentine smiled and pushed his fedora up out of his eyes, “Paris, there's nothing more pleasant I'd like to talk about right now than you.”  
Paris smiled at the fire and smothered her cigarette out. When she had first met him, she thought his forwardness might have just been because of the situation, he was on a job after all. However, the longer she traveled with him, the more she learned that he simply had no patience for dancing around the point. It was as endearing as frustrating for her.  
Finally though, she looked up to him. “What would you like to know?” She asked playfully, her smile turning coy.  
“Well now, you know that I've got more pre-war memories than I could ever want, so why don't we just talk about you?.”  
She was silent for a moment, and stared at his neck and jaw for an uncomfortably long period of time. Even if he wasn't open there, it would have felt like she was staring right through him.  
“Can I talk about Nate?” Her question was almost drowned out by a sudden gust of wind that whipped through the house, causing both her and the fire before them to quiver. Nick used this as an excuse to move closer to her.  
“Of course you can.”

“I didn't originally want to take his last name. Dembowski. Good, strong, Polish name, but what a mouthful. He was more than happy to let me keep by maiden name, but the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to keep a part of him with me. A symbol of our marriage, I suppose. I think I made the decision once he officially retired from the military and would no longer be addressed by the name. When he started going by Nate again, well, it felt like Dembowski could be a name for both of us. I-“ she smiled at the surprised look on his face. “Yes, yes, ironic isn't it? I married a cute, young, soldier boy. I know, I don't seem the type, but oh, he was so cute, Nick. All freckles and green eyes, and his hair was red in the sunlight. He grew it out long once he got home too, just for me. He was barely taller than me, and I had to be careful what kind of heels I wore. He always insisted he didn't care if I was taller or not, but I suppose I'm just vain that way. Bit of a deadbeat before Shaun, I’m sorry to admit, but it was my fault.. I had my job at the firm that paid well enough to support us both quite comfortably, so I insisted that he didn't need to look for a job until he was ready. I just wanted him to rest from anchorage. And rest he did, until I figured out I was pregnant with Shaun. The day I told him, he immediately took over all the household jobs. We didn't have Codsworth just yet, but I don't think he would've slowed down at all even if we did. He did all the cooking, shopping, cleaning. Told me all I needed to worry about was making sure the bad guys landed in jail, the good guys got to go free, and that our child was put together right.” Paris laughed at that, her eyes staring ahead but not seeing anything.  
“Shaun was an accident. I'll admit that. We hadn't even discussed having children. Once I was pregnant though, well, we both agreed that we had waited long enough for the decision to be made for us. I don't, I still don't…” She sighed, leaning against Nick’s cold frame.  
“I'm not sure if I’ll be a good mother, I barely got any practice. I can still hear my mother’s voice in the hospital, ‘Rachel, you're not even holding him right! Here, like this…’” She mocked, holding an imaginary baby and shifting positions in a highly exaggerated fashion.  
“Rachel?” Nick interjected, “who's-“  
“Oh, right, sorry. That's my real name. Rachel.”  
“Oh.”  
“I met Nate at a bar, I was still in college, he had just finished basic. It was loud, crowded, and he was trying to talk to me while I was flirting with the guy next to me. When he asked me my name, I replied too fast and too irritated for him to hear me correctly. After awhile, the first guy left and I was stuck with him. He kept calling me Paris, which I thought was just a sorry attempt at a pet name, so I never corrected him.” Her smile fell a little,  
“It took a whole month before we figured out he didn't even know my actual name. Once I corrected him, he only ever used Paris as a joke.” She pulled her knees to her chest and laid her head against them.  
“After the vault, it didn't feel right to use Denbowski anymore. That was our name. And he’s gone. I don't know when I decided to use Paris instead, but It's… A symbol. A way to remember how important he was to me. I'm moving on, but, he'll always be a part of who I am.”  
Valentine watched her rub the bare spot on her ring finger absentmindedly. She had her face on her knees, but turned to him, and he could feel her warmth radiating through her layers of jackets. He wasn't one for touch, it was off putting to most people, with his exposed metal and synthetic skin. However, she had pressed herself next to him, so he reached his arm around her and held her in silence. His chin rested on her shoulder, and he felt it rise and fall unsteadily, as if she was holding back a sob.  
“It sounds like he was a real upstanding husband.”  
Paris sat upright so she could return his embrace in kind.  
“He was. Oh… If he could see me now…” She laughed, pressing her face into the crook of Valentine’s neck.  
“If he could see you now I think I'd be in trouble,” Nick jested, giving her a light squeeze. He could feel her chuckle lightly against him and let his eyes close.  
“I'm lucky to have you, Valentine. If I hadn't met you, I…”  
The synth sat back and held her at arms length, “Hell, you just wound up with an old bot! I'm the one that lucked out, I would've never guessed that I would've been saved by-“  
“Nick.” She cut him off.  
He stopped short, unable to do anything other than blink at her.  
“You are more important to me than you’ll ever realize.” She said, slowly, carefully. Nick let a small smile play on his lips, hoping that the sudden flood of coolant through his system had more to do with his proximity to the fire than his body trying to represent blushing the best way it could.  
“I think I've got an idea.”

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas you sinners.
> 
> Send me requests and prompts at   
> little-atombomb on tumblr!


End file.
